


you're my backbone

by sagexbrush



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Wisdom Teeth, pure fluff, stiles is high
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 19:58:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7727851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagexbrush/pseuds/sagexbrush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If someone had told her three years ago that she’d cancel a date with a hot boy so she could pick up Stiles Stilinski from getting his wisdom teeth out – well Lydia would probably recommend you for Eichen House.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>(or stiles gets his wisdom teeth taken out and lydia comes to pick him up.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're my backbone

**Author's Note:**

> my personal wisdom teeth experience was hell, but i think it would have been better if i had a cute boy to cuddle with.

            It’s a Saturday when the Sheriff frantically calls Lydia and says that he needs someone to pick up Stiles from the oral surgeon’s office.

            Apparently sometimes being a sheriff had to rule over being a Dad.

            _Of course_ it has to be on a night when Lydia had actually decided to go on an _actual_ date with someone new, someone who didn’t know about the supernatural, and was actually normal.

            The things she did for this boy.

            She calls her date and quickly cancels, explaining the situation as best she can. She tells him she’ll call him back later and they can reschedule.

            She’s dressed up to go out, in heels, her prettiest blue dress, and her hair styled in curls. The receptionist looks surprised at the sight of Lydia stalking towards her looking like she’s come from some posh restaurant.

            “I’m here to pick up Stiles Stilinski,” she says as sweetly as she can, and the woman gives her a look over before speaking –

            “The Sheriff said he was sending someone in his place to pick his son up,” the woman says skeptically, “Can I see some ID?”

            Lydia digs out her driver’s license from the depths of her practically bottomless purse, and pushes it over towards the woman. She examines it with such precision you would have thought Lydia was asking to see a _prisoner_ – not taking a boy home.

            “Everything seems to be in order,” the woman stands up. “He should be coming out the anesthesia soon. Follow me.”

            Stiles is in one of those torturous looking dental chairs, his head lolling against his shoulder, his breathing deep and heavy, dressed in sweatpants and a sweatshirt. The receptionist leaves them, and Lydia sits by his feet, tapping her heels against the floor and studying him.

            If someone had told her three years ago that she’d cancel a date with a hot boy so she could pick up _Stiles Stilinski_ from getting his wisdom teeth out _–_ well Lydia would probably recommend you for Eichen House.

            She can’t quite see _that_ Lydia anymore however, like a blurred version of somebody she used to know, and can’t really imagine a world where she _wouldn’t_ do this for Stiles. Or Scott. Or Kira, Liam, or even Malia.

            His eyes start to flutter open, and he just looks confused.

            “Hey,” she says softly, gently placing a hand on his knee. “You feeling okay?”

            She really didn’t want to clean up after his vomit.

            “Lyd –Lydia?” he mumbles, his voice slurred and his eyes barely open.

            “Yep, it’s me!” Trusting that the Sheriff had filled out the paperwork necessary, she moves to the right of Stiles’ head, “I’m here to get you home, can you stand up?”

            He sloppily reaches for her and loosely grabs her arm, before pressing his face against the side of her head, burying his nose in her hair.

            “You smell _nice_ ,” he crows, “like sunshine.”

            She rolls her eyes, just as the doctor comes into the room. He’s smiling, the creepy smile that doctor’s give people, and it makes Lydia cringe. To her, all doctors look the same, the crinkly brown eyes, the fake smile, the too big hands –

            “You’re the one to pick up Stiles?” he asks, as Stiles manages to get himself into a sitting position, still leaning heavily on Lydia.

            “That would be me,” she says, adjusting her weight naturally to support his, not wanting to think about the last time she had to help him like this, or the last time he helped _her_ –

            “Well take him home, switch out his gauze every once in a while, I trust the Sheriff has the pain medication waiting, keep ice on his cheeks and don’t leave him alone,” he says all of these tasks like they’re _easy_ and Lydia just stares at him blankly.

            She had signed up to be Stiles’ nurse, not his _babysitter_.

            “Of course,” she says anyways, resigning herself to the fact that she’ll be spending the rest of her night in the company of a high Stiles Stilinski.

            Maybe she’ll lucky and he’ll just fall asleep.

            “Do you want some help getting him out to your car?” he asks politely, and Lydia nods, roping one of Stiles’ arms around her shoulders and the Doctor moves to take the other. They’re carting Stiles between them in a move that’s all too familiar to Lydia, _the wounded drag._

They take him to her car; the doctor gives Lydia a medicine schedule, and then she buckles him in like he’s a two year old, before kicking off her heels and deciding she may as well get comfortable.

            She shakes out her hair, starts up her car, and starts off for the Stilinski’s. She sends her Mom a text to not expect her until later, and assumes Stiles is asleep until he says something.

            “You know,” he says, “I had a plan.”

            “I know,” she says, tapping out a beat on the steering wheel while she pulls out of the parking lot, “It’s okay that it didn’t work out exactly perfect.”

            “No it’s not!” he insists, louder than he usually would be, banging his fist weakly against the side of the door, “It shoulda – it shoulda worked.”

            “When do our rescue plans ever work?” she asks, “Seriously Stiles, don’t worry. You got me out of Eichen House in the end.”

            “No not that plan!” he protests, and then contemplates for a moment, the thoughts seeming to take a lot longer to process than they normally would, “But nonna my plans work do they?”

            “Not really, no,” she says bluntly, only half paying attention to the conversation as she turns onto a different road.

            “Well this plan was gonna work!” he declares, stabbing a finger in the air, “It was – it was _gonna_!”

            “And what plan was that?” she asks absently, stopping at a red light and glancing over at him to make sure he’s okay. He’s sitting in the passenger seat, his eyes half open, traces of drool on his cheeks and chin, and he looks like he’s about to pass out at any second.

            “The plan to get youuuuu,” he extends the ‘you’ dramatically, gesturing towards her and then back at himself, “To fall in love with meeeee.”

            “Excuse me?” Lydia raises one eyebrow, ignoring the butterflies that erupt in her stomach at the mention of a ‘plan’.

            “The ten year plan,” he says, sighing, “Scott and I came up with it. It was gonna make us happy Lyds.”

            “Plans don’t necessarily make people happy,” she answers, thinking of her Father’s ‘plan’ to fix his marriage, “So why did you give up on this plan?”

            She’s super surprised when Stiles leans over and gives her a big sloppy kiss on the ear (she’s assuming he was aiming for her cheek, but his dexterity was off considering the effects of the medicine) and sits back, humming an off tune song when he replies –

            “I did – no give up.”

            “No give up?”

            “ _Not_ ,” he corrects absently, and jabs with a random finger at the controls on her car, turning on the radio.

            Adele beings to play throughout the car, and Stiles finds the dial and twists it up high – cutting off anymore questions Lydia may have about this magical ‘plan’.

            She’s so distracted she doesn’t notice the intake of breath; perhaps if she had she could have been prepared for what was about to follow –

            “HELLLLLOOOOO FROM THE OTTHEEEER SIDEEEEEE!” he practically scream-sings, throwing back his head and grinning lazily at the ceiling, “CAAAAAAAN YOUUUUUU HEAAAAAR MEEEEEE LYDIAAAAAAAAAAA?”

            The Sheriff _so_ owes her.

 

***

            She manages to wrestle him onto the couch in his living room, and he stares up at her with a dumbfounded grin, his eyes still opening and closing lazily. She wads the bloody gauze out of his mouth and replaces it.

            She throws the leftover gauze in the trash car, grabs a blanket off the back of the chair and wraps it tightly around Stiles, whatever mothering instincts she still has left taking over when she sees how pitiful he looks.

            She then puts icepacks into two socks and ties it around his head. It wasn’t a fashion statement, but it beat holding the ice up to his face.

            She sits down next to him and turns on Star Wars (it’s either this or some action-y looking movie and okay maybe she likes Star Wars but she wasn’t about to admit that to _Stiles_ ) and is expecting Stiles to fall asleep at any moment now -           

            When his head droops suddenly, falling onto her shoulder, his nose brushing the delicate skin of her throat, she thinks she stops breathing.

            “Thank ya Mom,” he mumbles, and her heart stops.

            Nobody mentioned Stiles’ Mother – _ever_ really, she was a person that had all faded from recognition, he had become just another person with only one parent.

            “You’re welcome,” she whispers, not wanting to say that she is _not_ – in fact his Mother, and he snuggles closer, sending shoots of electricity down to her toes.

            “I miss you,” he whispers. “Where did you go Momma?”           

            She vaguely remembers her own wisdom teeth experience, but isn’t expecting Stiles to begin crying, big fat tears dripping onto her best dress.

            “It’s okay,” Lydia whispers, stroking his hair with her free hand, “I’m right here Stiles.”

            “I screwed things up Mom,” he sniffles.

            “No you didn’t,” Lydia says softly.

            “How do I fix things?” he asks her, and she rests her head on top of his.

            “You could ask Lydia for help,” she suggests, despite herself, sharp shards of pain splintering through her stomach. He hasn’t asked her for help since Allison died.

            “Lyds – “ he sighs, “Do you remember Ma? What I called her the firs’ the first day?”

            “What did you call her?”

            “I call her, she’s my angel,” he says, “With strawberry – strawberries in her hair.”

            She wants to cry now too, and holds him as close as she possibly can, her heart breaking and her dress getting ruined by his tears.

            “She’d love to talk to you,” she says, betraying her every thought, “Try it out sometime.”

            “Whatever you say Ma,” he whispers, his voice still strangely muffled by the gauze, his cheeks cold from the ice, “Will you stay with me?”

            “Of course,” she whispers, “And you know what Stiles?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Maybe Lydia has her own plan too,” she whispers, “And maybe your plan has already worked.”

            (Maybe she won’t reschedule things with that boy.)

 

***

 

            Later the Sheriff comes home to find Star Wars playing on the TV, Stiles with ice strapped to his face and fresh gauze in his mouth, and Lydia asleep next to him, their limbs tangled together, and he smirks.

            Melissa was right after all, it just took a little of pushing to get them to talk again. (And maybe a little anesthesia on Stiles’ part.)

**Author's Note:**

> (title from gone gone gone by phillip phillips)


End file.
